I Always

I always

want

need

surrender

I always

don't

want

need

always

hope

harbor

harvest

always I

bow

before

what is

world without

end

amen

The Orchid Teacher

No, no, no, not someone to teach the arts of nurturing orchids. No, no. The orchid is the teacher. She gives the lessons. He tells the tale. It sends the message. The orchid. It's the seer, guru, professor, maestro.

The orchid's the teacher.

The blossoms wilted. They died. They fell. The big green leaves stayed around all winter after the flower spikes were cut down near the bottom. Watered once a week in the time of hibernation, a time before The Quarantines. Faithfully. Months passed. And in the spring two, possibly three or four, minuscule shoots, bright dots, green-yellow eyes peering from the sphagnum. It is said these are flower spikes. Nascent. 

Hope. After the endless winter.

Hope was not abandoned, all ye who entered here.

Hope in the Age of Coronavirus.

I am the orchid.

You are the orchid.

No human heart or voice ever scolded the orchid, never inserted a sideways "should" in any shape, color, or form. Never remonstrated the orchid for its tardiness, its barrenness, its playing dead. No human name murmured "what if" or "if only you had" or "but." The orchid wouldn't listen anyway. She knew her secrets, he guarded his destiny, it surrendered to its fate. The orchid endured not a single "told you so" or "could have" or "would have."

Her patience with our impatience was our homework, quiz, and test. Everyone passed. His lesson was for all to see all along. Speaking not a word, the orchid spoke volumes.

You are the orchid.

I am the orchid.

We sing hymns to the orchid teacher. The orchid is the teacher, we the pupils.

The orchid is the message and the messenger.
 

increasingly disappearing

oxymoron of love or whatever you call it Leonard Cohen called it room service to disappear increasingly meaning the apex of detachment the antithesis of attachment currying favor with the healthy self opposite the poisonous spice of obsequious pandering apposite the embrace of fullness of time other side of waning decrease withering wallowing Joyce is dead nobody does this crap anymore this fancy tapdance this diamond studded diversion increasingly disappearing into equanimity tempered balance buoyant serenity unfathomable steadiness floating oceans of oh-my-this  

it'll be all right

You hear the phrase, and you want to believe it. "It'll be all right." Or perhaps the slightly more formal and more assertive "It will be all right." The lack of a contraction adds a dollop of gravitas to the remark. It's not simply a remark; it's a sentence, not as in a judicial punishment but grammatically. It nearly takes the stance of a command, an imperative sentence, but then you would need "you," understood, as the subject: "Be all right." That's an entirely different flavor, isn't it? Even though that formulation is a command, it carries less weight, less force, than "It'll be all right." The phrase exudes hope; it's a declaration of faith that something will turn out okay, whatever that may mean. Yes, you want to believe it when they say it to you. But such faith, belief, credence, or acceptance is not based merely on the words. The words are the least of it. What matters more is who is saying it and how they are saying it. You therefore weigh a bushel of considerations: is this person prone to bromides or platitudes? Is it just a well-meaning but vacant wish? Is it even less than that, merely something to say, to fill the air, or a putative palliative that even the speaker does not believe? Or does the proclaimer of "It'll be all right" have a history, a solid back story you can grasp, a redemptive tale that gives you the hope that's intended? You smell that hope in the air after they say it. They say it breezily but with a substratum of insouciant certitude. You also wonder what elicited the plethora of "It'll be all right"s. You did not expect that the plight you described would come off so melodramatically, evoking so many "It will be all right"s or its variations. Now you wonder if you were laying it on with a trowel. And you fear you were seeking attention more than solace and strength. True, you had to fight off the knee-jerk: "How can you say that?" Or "Really? What makes you think so?" Or the flat-out "I don't think so; I doubt that." You could say that the "it" in "It'll be all right" is the fulcrum, the pivot, for all that follows, both for them and for you. Are there configurations of "it" that can never be all right, or is that a matter of perspective, attitude, faith, disposition, hope, or their opposites? You wonder what you would feel if your plight was received with no one saying "It'll be all right," a stony silence or a bounteous wordlessness, take your pick. And, c'mon, what's with this "plight"? You concede that word may be too freighted with danger, risk, and threat. But what choice did you have? How else would you term your condition, circumstance, or conjecture? You hear another "It'll be all right," a familiar ring to it now, like an echo in a canyon, and you are tempted to blurt out "But it is all right!" but you resist the impulse because you don't want to come off as a wiseguy, a flippant and cavalier contrarian. Instead, you find yourself repeating it, to your surprise. "It'll be all right," not audibly, more a mumble. You, of all people, don't know what this means or what to make of it. "It will be all right," they said and are still saying. You suspect you are right back where you started, but infinitely not. You don't mind. You're willing to wait to find out.

moored, unmoored, more or less

A friend in a missive to me used the word "unmoored." I had to look it up, to make sure the meaning in my mind was moored to the meaning in Merriam-Webster. It is a nautical metaphor summoning images of cables, anchors, ropes, security, stability. Actually, it summons the lack of those images, since those are the moored of unmoored. Well, who isn't unmoored at least some of the time? I'd venture (to continue the nautical narrative) that I've been more unmoored than moored for much of my watery or earthly sojourn. That's not necessarily a bad thing, for being unmoored allows one to drift, even to sail (sails billowing in the cumulus-driven breeze). How else would we find New-found-land, to echo the great poet and priest John Donne?

hopeless romantic

You hear and see the term "hopeless romantic." Why hopeless and not hopeful? Does the former choice anticipate rejection, adding to the unrequited-love pose? Does the latter choice make it all sound too easy? Is being romantic a hopeless proposition, given the clash of romance and gauzy fantasy vs. the pebble-in-the-shoe or sand-in-your-tea challenges of so-called reality?

12 Steps of Marketing 101

1. Last November while awaiting to get my rental car from Enterprise I struck up a casual and commiserating conversation with a customer more disgruntled than I.

2. I recognized the name of her business advertised on her baseball cap; I told her I knew of the firm, that I had once inquired about working there.

3. I offered to exchange business cards. She did not have her cards with her. I gave her my card and wrote down her name and email.

4. Days later, I sent her an email reminding her of our brief chat and introducing her to my website, etc.

5. Days after that, I sent her my linecard or brochure or handout or whatever we want to call it, with a handwritten note.

6. Time passed.

7. A little more time passed.

8. Then I sent a brief follow-up email, suggesting lunch or a cup of coffee. She was on vacation, the quick reply stated.

9. Some time passed.

10. I received an email from her not only agreeing to lunch but outlining possible areas of need and professional common interest and opportunities. She offered to bring a colleague to lunch.

11. All three of us had a brilliant lunch today reviewing specific needs and potential scenarios for collaborating. Their firm graciously paid the tab for lunch (in my neighborhood incidentally).

12. It is virtually certain that we will work together in 2010. It works if you work it.